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In the wake of the tragic, Atlantis like sinking of the original Sanctum, we all lost a treasure trove of excellent and rich stories. Only a few Bloodfury stories could be recovered, and all of the threads were fragmented and mostly lost. However, then member Narata had archived several of them, and let me know that they were still available. I am finally getting around to reposting them as time permits.

My sincere thanks to Narata for her kind and fortuitous work. This will be remembered, and deserves to be noted.

This and the other threads were works in progress, and we will pick them up as we are able. Some will have to be retconned, but then Voltaire said that history was merely a pack of tricks the living played upon the dead. Where original dates can be recovered, they will be posted as well.

It was good to be back in Kalimdor, and it would be better yet when this exchange was ended. The orcess slouching in the corner heaved sighs as Stonz labored over runes and parchment in the quiet. She was unfamiliar, and he didn't like her. She had the face of Blades Edge Mountain and the physique of Nagrand.

Durotar was always hot, and so was Bloodfury's den. The room was still and close, and he could smell her. Her smell was not unpleasant. Light sweat; sage; musk and something elusive, like the stinging dust raised when mining feliron. The combination was both arousing and disturbing. He put it out of his mind and continued to write.

A soft, contented moan from the corner caused him to glance up. She was slipping further down the wall, twisting, stretching and arching her back, sliding her bare feet forward and apart.

She dressed in the old style, like some mad berserker pouring through Medivh's portal for the first time. Dark rags and leather scraps, with small bones and talismans tied or stitched here and there. The tatters and lack of cloth exposed more than they covered. She stretched with the languid confidence of a panther, and looked as strong and feral as one too. The flexing of her muscles revealed remarkable control, and showed that she was not merely strong, but supple too. She was...

Watching Stonz watching her.

"Do you like what you see, warrior?" she whispered. "Would you like to see more?" She smiled, her eyes half closed and gleaming with amusement.

"What I want to see, as soon as possible is your backside!"

She turned, and bending low from the waist looked back over her shoulder. "Like this?", grinning back at the warrior.

Stonzgrinda felt rage creeping up on him, and shame for being so easily distracted. "Stand up and turnabout if you want the contract, orc! I want to see this mission accomplished, our business concluded, and you out the door for the final time!" Slamming stamps on the parchments to finalize the completed scrolls, Stonz stood up to gather scattered items together.

She yawned and replied, "Every generation, under every warchief and in every war, all of you warriors are the same. So wedded to death that you ignore life, and all of you die long before you gasp out your last despairing breath. I will tell you, Grunt Warchief Sergeant Stonzgrinda, unworthy successor that you are - the caresses of axes are cruel, and the embrace of the earth is cold and joyless. Truly, you should live before you die, at least once."

"If I want the counsel of a bitch I will consult with my worg, courier. Here is the gift, and here are the scrolls. Take them, and see that they are delivered to the witch with the instructions I gave you." Grumbling he thrust the items across a makeshift desk towards her.

She shook her head at the gift. "Only a warrior could regard such a thing as an auspicious gift. Something like this may be regarded as a thing of ill omen."

"It is the work of my hands, to the best of my ability. It is a sincere gesture of respect, and I am not surprised that you cannot recognize such a thing."

Stepping forward, and putting her hands on the splintered shield that formed his desktop she leaned towards the warrior. Her garnet eyes locked on his, as searching and unyielding as any adversary he had ever faced in battle. "I am serious you know. I would give you anything you want, and things you do not even know of. I could bring you transports you cannot imagine."

"GET. OUT. NOW.", he rumbled.

She threw her head back and laughed, deeply and with real mirth. "Fool warrior. Where is your clan? Did not all of you follow your warmistress at least partly for the view? That pretty picture is gone now, and so are your orcs. Your Kor'kron you promoted so quickly. Pretty and fierce, isn't she? Perhaps someday your blood will pool together on the ground. Won't that be romantic? That lovely child, what was her name? Kil'reth. The mind and purity of a child, in a body as fresh and fertile as Scholazar Basin, rushing into the protection of your arms and of Bloodfury. Wouldn't you like to 'instruct' her, and be her great protector? Really, you should pick one wench someday. Then your head will not be turned by all of them, all the time. The bow that is always bent will break, warchief. You are not married to your axe, nor this 'clan' you think you lead."

"Leave now while you still have legs."

"Of course. When fools are eager to ride towards oblivion, the least I can do is saddle their worgs."

Stonz stood and shook with rage and despair as she left the den. "I have a mistress" he muttered, "her name is Duty, and I will serve her until the day I die."

Sisanej sits upon a rickety wooden chair in the lower level of the Bloodfury Den sharpening her axe. Each time she runs the sharpening stone across the width of the axe’s blade the chair creaks, causing her to pause and slightly shift her weight. She weighs just over three hundred pounds in her heavy plate armor. Usually she would dress much lighter when not on the battlefield, but she intends to meet with the Bloodfury’s Warchief once her axe is finely sharpened. Sisa removes one of her gauntlets and gently taps her finger once on her axe’s blade. A blood droplet instantly appears in a freshly made slit where the blade had barely touched her skin.

“Perfect.”

Sisanej stands up and hangs her axe to a metallic hook protruding from her belt. She brushes off the fine dust of the sharpening stone from the front of her tabard, and turns around to go up the stairs to meet with her Warchief. She sees a shadow on the wall in the stairwell, someone is coming down the stairs... “Could it be Stonzgrinda?”

As the shadow grows along the wall and the foot steps become louder Sisa snaps to attention with her arms at her side and her chin up. When an un attractive female orc comes around the corner of the stairwell Sisa sighs and slumps her shoulders. She thinks to herself.“I wonder who that witch is...Stonz’s mother?”

Sisa shudders as the female orc passes her on her way out of the den. She does not even give Sisanej a passing glance as she walks out the door. Sisa runs to the exit to watch her leave.

Half expecting the orcess to jump on a broom and fly away. As she watches the orc leave she sees a young male orc rider coming quickly down the trail leading up to the Dem. He halts directly infront of the entrance of the den making eye contact with Sisa and blocking her view of the departing orcess.

The young orc bellows loudly.“Lok’Tar Ogar Bloodfury warrior!” He dismounts and proudly struts up to Sisanej and pounds his chest with respect.“I am of age and seek a Clan of my own! I wish to join the Bloodfury!”

Sisa hides her disappointment at the young orc’s unfortunate timing behind her helmet.

She sets aside her own desires of speaking with her Warchief and greets the orc like the officer she is.

“Come in Brother and have a seat! Tell me about yourself!”

She removes her helmet and sits down in a chair setting her helmet on her lap she rests her hands atop it. The young orc does not sit, instead he stands proudly in front of Sisa and begins to tell tales of his conquests, and his desires.

Sisa smiles with sincere delight as she listens to the young orc proudly tell his tale. The young orc is passionate and would be a fine addition to the clan. Even still, her mind can not help but to wonder.

Dinpik didn't think of herself as an especially spiritual person, but she found the serenity of Aldor Rise comforting, a drink of cold water on a hot day. This evening Aldor Rise was more quiet than usual, and she was grateful for that.

She ran a four-fingered hand through her slightly damp green hair, pulling it away from her face in a single tail instead of her customary two. The occasion was an unfamiliar one; she felt the need for a new ritual, for ceremony, along with it. She had bought the incense she'd burned while taking her bath from an Aldor acolyte. The robe she wrapped about her and tied with its sash was undyed mageweave, and never worn before. Kro -- who Dinpik strongly suspected wasn't the wizened old gnome woman she appeared -- had told her to consult her spirits. This is as close to it as possible. She saw meanings in the card's pictures; spirits didn't have anything to do with it. She doubted Kro would understand.

He is no knight, nor even man, but he bleeds his soul for a bloody clan.

I bear a gift from him to thee, to scry two futures, if you can see.

One thing of strength and great renown - now empty halls; and a heavy crown.

A band of comrades torn apart. Life blood flows from pierced hearts.

I am but Crow this word to send. If you are able, speak the end."

Dinpik shook her head as if shivering away a fly. She crossed to the rack that held her staff, and picked up the sword beside it, set it back down. A gift, Kro had said. Her own height and then some, made from a red metal that seemed to glow, broad at the base -- a two-handed sword. Dinpik had watched Tanyel work at the forge often enough to tell this was an exceptional example of swordsmithing. Even if she did use swords like some warlocks, she couldn't use this one. Perhaps Tanyel would like it. She rejected the idea at once. If she was right about her client's nature, the possibility of the work of his own hands shedding his blood was the worst possible insult.

She nibbled on a stray strand of hair, thinking. All her readings so far had been with the person across from her, face to face. Not the case here. She didn't know how this would affect the cards. Would she be able to see anything at all in them?

She hefted the sword again. It wavered alarmingly in her grasp until her grip tightened enough to steady it. Holding it just below waist-high, she gingerly carried it to the rug and place it precisely in the center, above the five scrolls and her cards. To the right of the sword were her No-Leak mechanoquill and notepad.

Dinpik sat cross-legged and reread the scrolls.

Once an orc of a restless and energetic nature decided to plant a tree under which he could live for his own pleasure and personal satisfaction. He planted an acorn and when the tree was only a fragile sapling, his turbulent nature took him away from Kalimdor and he forgot the tree completely.

Before he left, the orc left a passionate and sincere orcess with the charge of taking care of the sapling. She did so, and the sapling grew strong with deep reaching roots and strong, spreading branches. She was generous and brought many other orcs to also dwell under the branches of what was now a might tree, and a glory in Kalimdor.

One day the turbulent orc returned from his adventures in the Eastern Kingdoms and demanded possession of the tree, which the orcess had nurtured from a sapling. She offered the orc space to live under the tree, but refused to yield its possession. She had made it what it was, and had grown to love the mighty tree. The orc rejected this offer and went away forever.

Years later the orcess married and left to raise her chidlren with her mate. She said she would return soon, but was never heard of again. Without her care the tree immediately began to wither and die. Many orcs who lived under the tree, orcs of great power and long-standing, stood by and did nothing while the tree died. Disgusted by its withered appearance, most left the cover of its branches as they felt it was no longer a good enough home.

One orc peon had recently moved in under the tree. He grieved to see it die, and he had only seen it briefly in all its glory. As the tree had been abandoned, he took possession of it, and tried to restore it. The tree no longer dies, but neither does it thrive, as the simple peon is not yet a skilled nurturer.

What is the Fate of the Tree?

What is the Fate of the Peon?

-- Stonzgrinda

Dinpik rolled up the scrolls and picked up her cards. She shuffled her deck for a long moment, then placed a card on the sword's blade, another across that one, and eight more around the weapon itself.She studied them for several minutes, taking notes. When she was done, she collected the cards, shuffling them, then cutting them three times. At each cut she blew on the halves of the deck before reuniting them. At last she held the deck in her right hand, her left on the sword's hilt, finally shuffling three more times and setting cards out in the same pattern.

The candles were burned halfway down by the time Dinpik clicked her mechanoquill and shook her hand to relieve the writer's cramp. The client had his answers as honestly as she could give. The only question left now was how to get them to him. She reached for her guildstone to ask for Reesee, then hesitated. This wasn't really a guild matter.

And she did have a contact of her own among the Horde. What had she told Kro?

The emissary, such as she was, had returned safe and sound. On balance that was for the best, as the mission had been important, at least for one perplexed and preoccupied orc called a warchief. He would not have minded an obscure and sudden death befalling the messenger either. It had been a winning situation either way, as long as Grommash Hold remained in the dark. Since he was still alive he assumed that the abundant darkness in that hall still prevailed.

But she had returned, and claimed the mission had been a success without any significant incident.

He faced the window looking south over Durotar, and forced himself to stand still. Without noticing, he began a monotonous drumming on the window sill.

A Blood Elf. Answers would come from a Blood Elf. He sighed. It would have to do. He would have to be patient.

Verilore was seated at breakfast in the informal dining room of his ancestral home in Silvermoon. The house maid, Elonia, approached him. Beneath her proper demeanor, Veri sensed the golden-haired elf was agitated.

"My lord. A package has arrived for you."

Verilore set down his delicate, porcelain coffee cup. "Where is it?" he inquired.

Elonia dipped a curtsey. "It's in your office, my lord."

That the package had gone straight to Veri's hidden workroom -- his 'office' -- meant that it was coming through his demons. Which meant it was Argent Dawn business. "It's urgent, then?" Verilore started to get up from the table.

Elonia hesitated. "Not... exactly... my lord."

Veri paused eyeing Elonia. He decided that further questions should wait. While he was reasonably confident that his household was secure and free of spies, Argent Dawn business required secrecy of extraordinary degrees. He brushed a stray lock of long, silver hair back over his shoulder. "Very well then, I shall meet you there."

Verilore's 'office' was a cozy, airtight space, hidden between the nobleman's bedroom and its adjoining bath and wardrobe. The solid, stone walls were devoid of any opening, door or otherwise. The only way in or out was a matching set of complex runes, which created a temporary portal. The room was shielded and warded to prevent magical detection. Outside of Verilore, only the household demons were allowed to move back and forth freely.

Within moments, the runes flared, and the scion of Felwraithe appeared. Elonia was waiting beside Verilore's succubus, Kalynn. On the small desk tucked at the far end of the room was a package. It was not the standard transmission of Argent Dawn reports. Verilore eyed Elonia and Kalynn in turn. "Who is this from?" he asked, sharply. That anyone would be using his demons as messengers was very disturbing. It could mean he had somehow been compromised.

Elonia cleared her throat. "It is from one of your more common Contacts."

Verilore's expression became stern and more than a little worried. This was highly unusual, and with the variety of unpleasant things going on among the Horde and Alliance lately, it wasn't likely to be anything good. He eyed the package warily and sat behind his desk. "Warded?" he asked simply.

Kalynn shook her head. "No my lord. None that we could detect."

Verilore started to pick up the package, when Elonia plucked it out of his grasp. At his surprised expression, the maid said simply, "Dame Felwraithe's tortures are impressive, even by Man'ari standards. I do not want to find out how inventive she might be if I allowed her only son to fall victim to a trap." Verilore, recognizing the futility of debate, did not protest as Elonia moved to the far end of the room with the package and broke the seal.

Nothing untoward happened. She pulled out first one scroll, then another. A loose sheaf of paper followed. Elonia scanned the note, then handed it to Kalynn, who in turn passed it to Veri. In a very familiar Eredun script, it read:

Dear Pen-Pal --

I know this is awkward, but I couldn't think of any safer way to send this. It isn't our usual business, I know, so I understand if you're upset. Or if you don't want to help. I suppose that's possible too, but I was really hoping you would. I need to get these scrolls to someone named Stonezgrinda, and I figured you could figure out how to do that. I'm certain he's an orc, and I'm pretty sure he belongs to Bloodfury.

There's nothing that should get you in trouble. Just personal stuff. If you can't help just please send everything back the way it came and I'll figure something else out. Oh, and I hope you liked the newspaper.

Sincerely,

-- The Writer On the Other Side

Verilore looked at Kalynn and Elonia in turn, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Kalynn was the first to respond.

"I don't like it," she said simply. "It smells like a trap."

Elonia appeared to mull the situation for a bit before responding. "It is very suspicious. But at the same time the Man'ari who brought this are known to us. We of anyone should be able to see signs of treachery that mortal eyes would miss." she paused to incline her head to Verilore. "I think the request is genuine."

Verilore nodded towards the scrolls held in Elonia's hand. "Are those warded?" Elonia regarded them a moment, then shook her head. Verilore made a slight grabbing motion with his hand. "Then let's have a look at them. As much as I'd like to trust our distant friend, I have to be sure that if these get intercepted somehow, there's no information in them that could be twisted into treason." Elonia broke the seals and experimentally unfurled a few inches of each scroll in turn before bringing them over to the nobleman. Veri opened the first scroll and began reading. With each passing moment confusion grew on his features. "What is this? Poker-by-mail?"

This time, Kalynn eased around the desk to peer at the runes over her master's shoulder. "It looks to be some kind of divination." She stood up with a half-smile. "Fortune cards."

Verilore made an exasperated noise. "By the Sun! First Farion and his wild 'visions' and now this? I may as well set up a booth at the Darkmoon Faire and broker fortune-tellers!"

Before him, Elonia gave him a small shrug and a sweetly sarcastic smile. "No one would accuse you of spying," she offered.

Verilore gave her a half-hearted glare. "I still don't like it, and I'd rather not set a precedence for this kind of... silliness." He drummed his fingers on the desk as he considered the situation. Finally, he sighed. "I suppose we've gone this far. Kalynn, I'd like you to find some way to disguise these scrolls. I'd rather it not be obvious what they are in case they are being tracked for some reason. Elonia -- I would like for you to gather as much information for me as you can on this 'Stonezgrinda'. I need to come up with a way to meet him that even he won't recognize as anything but a chance encounter."

Both demons bowed deeply to the warlock before disappearing in a flash of runes.

Verilore expertly caught the fist-sized, elastic ball as it rebounded off the wall of his enclosed study. It was a curious toy which he'd bought from a Consortium vendor during a visit to the Outlands. It was perfectly spherical, and its surface smooth such that with practice, one might learn to direct its bounces by putting certain spins on it. And, oh, the bounces! It ricocheted off the floor, walls and ceiling with greater speed and distance than any such toy Veri had seen before. It only took one, experimental near-disaster in the parlor of his estate to cause him to quickly slink upstairs to his study, which held none of his mother's prized possessions (aside from himself).

He had been idly bouncing the ball off the ceiling, catching it over and over again as he leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk. The hiss and pop of one of his demons teleporting into his study startled him. He missed the ball, which bounced off the wall behind him before hitting the back of his head with a small "pok!". Veri sat forward, dropping his feet to the floor. He quickly folded his hands on his desk, looking for all the world as if nothing untoward had just happened. His succubus, Kalynn, watched the ball roll past her hooves before it came to rest in the far corner of the small room.

Kalynn managed to keep a straight face as she bowed to the warlock. “My lord, I have disguised the scrolls as you commanded.”

“Ah!” he replied, looking pleased. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Kalynn walked over Verilore’s desk and placed a ratty-looking book in front of him. The worn leather cover was smudged with dark grease, but not enough to obliterate the title, which read “I’m In Love with A Robot”. The illustration on the inside cover page raised one of Verilore’s pale eyebrows. He didn’t think robots typically wore bodices. Or had bosoms. Showed how much he knew. He went to flip the book open. Most of the pages appeared to be stuck together – with what, he didn’t want to speculate. The book fell open naturally in the middle where it had clearly been broken-in. He started reading at the top of the page. The other eyebrow rose. The recipient was likely in for an education. “So, where are the scrolls?” he asked, reluctant to try to pry any pages apart.

Kalynn pointed to two dingy ribbons which would typically be used to mark reading passages. A gentle tug parted the pages at each ribbon to reveal a compartment cut into the pages on each side. Inside each compartment, the scrolls had been carefully tucked into the snug openings. It was not secured with spells or physical locks. However, embarrassment and overall reluctance to handle the book would serve as a remarkably good deterrent to snooping.

“It’s brilliant!” Verilore exclaimed.

Kalynn dipped in a curtsy, beaming. “Thank you my lord. Will there be anything else?”

The warlock set the book down, giving the succubus a grimace. “Time to contact Malidan and find out where our ‘Stonzgrinda’ wishes to meet us. I’ve already secured passage to Pandaria if need be, but let us hope that Winterspring will do.”